


lumière, darling

by lookoutlovers



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Magic!AU, Moon shenanigans, Strangers to Lovers, lucas is magic, other than i said so, there is no explanation for it, very dramatique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutlovers/pseuds/lookoutlovers
Summary: lucas can’t help but think that there’s something special about this thing between him and eliott that not even magic can explain.(or, all the times lucas uses his magic to make eliott smile)
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 42
Kudos: 241





	lumière, darling

**Author's Note:**

> i had lots of fun with this also i have decided that lucas and his crystal ball have rights. enjoy :)
> 
> (i listened to SYML’s cover of harvest moon obsessively while writing this and i have been reborn)
> 
> posted on [my tumblr](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/post/189124721142/lumi%C3%A9re-darling-56k-theres-a-wonder-now) and you can also read it [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9130681) in russian ✨

It starts off innocent. And Lucas swears it wasn’t a deliberate choice—_at first_.

It’s just that the boy at the bus shelter had been looking down at the damp pavement all despondently with his shoulders hunched and Lucas had thought, _you’re far too pretty to feel sad._

And he’s fully aware that using his powers for trivial things like making pretty boys smile is prohibited and careless. But he had gotten caught up in the impulsiveness of the moment and all it had took was a soft blink and an almost automatic flip in his mind for a delicate float, and the flutter of a dreamy blue butterfly to land right at the tip of the boy’s knee.

He had smiled, then. The corner of his lips twitching up ever so slightly in a way that was barely perceptible but just as evident as Lucas needed it to be.

Somehow, with his eyelashes damp from the light drizzle and only a shadow of a smile on his face—the boy had looked even prettier than before. Ethereal, is the word that first comes to Lucas’ mind, as the boy uses a gentle finger to trace along the now motionless wing of the butterfly, its comfort now in the deep denim of his soaked through jeans.

There’s a wonder now imbued in the boy’s eyes contrast to their previous grey sorrow. A light blue, maybe hinting on green, reflecting off the lapis lazuli guised wings of the butterfly.

He doesn’t seem to question the feasibility of a butterfly in November, especially that of a cassius blue.

***

Lucas sees the boy from the bus shelter for the second time one dismal Friday night in a club he really doesn’t want to be at, alongside people he doesn’t particularly want to be with.

It’s just that Christmas work dos are meant for fancy dinners and wreath making classes, not clubs that blast heavy techno at one in the morning—in Lucas’ opinion, anyway.

He has been circling the vicinity for a while now, winding in and out of crowds like a ghost to the night, just because he doesn’t really feel like dancing and the bathroom has a weird stench to it that he would preferably like to avoid at all costs.

That’s when he sees him. With the straw of his now empty mojito dangling from his lips, residue of ice numbing his fingertips as they grip onto his glass, Lucas pauses, and there he is. Right by the bar, neon pulses of light dance in harsh intermittent flashes across the pale sheen of his face as he leans over the counter to shout something into the bartender’s ear.

He seems to be alone—or, alone like Lucas is alone, like he’s just snuck away from his group to get another drink, or to catch a furtive minute.

And Lucas studies the dip of his cheekbones that only seems to come into view with each taper of light; the curve of his jawline and the slightly imperfect dip of his nose, and thinks, _I’d really love to know your name._

The bartender returns with his drink, something in a tall class that looks way too pink and far too sickly sweet for Lucas’ liking. The boy slides over some cash, then turns and disappears into the swarm of inebriation on the dancefloor.

Lucas sighs, sets down his own empty glass on a passing table and shimmies his way in the approximate direction of the boy.

***

By the time a text from Lucas’ co-worker reading, _where did u go?_ appears on his phone screen, timestamp informing him that it’s just gone half past one, he’s pretty much given up searching for the boy from the bus shelter.

Now he’s taken refuge from the head splitting drill of music and his self-asserting co-workers in the comfort of the smoking area. Out here there’s a degree less of that same stuffiness that comes along with a bunged-out nightclub. And although the night time air is tainted with smoke, Lucas thinks it’s a lot more of a pleasant setting than anywhere else he’s tried tonight.

Resting against one of the outside walls, Lucas tilts his head back with a sigh. He gazes up at the darkened sky through the overhead vines that are intertwined within the wooden pergola above and that’s when he hears the quiet cough next to him.

It only invokes Lucas’ attention because he gets a sudden fear that perhaps it’s one of his co-workers coming to drag him back to the dancefloor. But instead, when Lucas turns to face the sound, he’s met with silver tinted eyes and a timid smile. It’s the boy from the bus shelter. And for some obscure reason, the more Lucas focuses on them the bluer the boy’s eyes seem to get—he thinks that’s strangely beautiful, how they manage to do so almost stealthily.

“Sorry to bother you, but do you have a lighter? Mine's fucked,” the boy says, cigarette dangling from his lips as he holds up his lighter and flicks the wheel as if to prove his point. In fairness, the lighter fluid is empty and the thing doesn’t light.

Lucas blinks at him, a little stunned, because he doesn’t really understand why this boy would approach _him_, of all people out here, to ask for a lighter. He could have asked someone who is actually, actively smoking—it would increase his chances, after all. But somehow, for some absurd reason, he’s chosen to corner Lucas and maybe that’s Lucas’ good karma for not abandoning his work friends earlier in the night.

Now, Lucas isn’t usually a smoker, so no, he does not in fact have a lighter. But then, he can’t tell this boy that. Because then he would have no reason to linger and Lucas most likely will never see him again, and in his more than tipsy brain, that feels like the worst thing in the world right now.

Hence, it happens again, maybe not so accidentally.

“Let me try,” Lucas holds out his hand. The boy releases the lighter into Lucas’ hold, eyebrows drawn together sceptically like he wants to say, _I know it doesn’t work so there’s no use trying._

The thing is, with Lucas he never really has to try.

He holds the lighter up towards the cigarette hanging from the boy’s pink stained lips, having to push himself from the wall to get closer, and with one swift flick of his thumb; a spark, a flame and a cloud of smoke.

The boy gasps.

“I swear it wasn’t working when I tried,” he defends, like Lucas is going to denounce him for lying. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and breathes into the abyss, a storm of grey clouds over his face and causes his features to appear ill-defined for a few short seconds. “How did you do that?

Lucas hands the lighter back and shrugs, “Just got lucky, I suppose.”

The boy snorts out a laugh, now back to flicking his thumb against the lighter over and over with no avail. “Fuck, I swear you’re magic or something. I tried for so long.”

“Yeah,” Lucas chuckles, accepting it when the boy offers him the cigarette and takes a long drag. Although, as he said, he doesn’t smoke all that often, so it all goes down the wrong pathway and comes out spluttering, embarrassingly so.

“Shit, you good?” the boy asks over Lucas’ strained coughs.

Lucas nods, trying desperately to compose himself, as the boy watches him struggle.

He giggles, and Lucas has to appease his inner turmoil all over again, because it’s definitively the most stunning sound he has ever heard.

“What’s your name?” the boy tilts his head, cigarette back in its rightful place.

“Lucas.”

He smiles, takes another drag that Lucas’ eyes follow like a cat caught in the trance of a dangling string.

“I’m Eliott.”

_Eliott_. It’s a pretty name, fitting, suited for the feeling of, _I think you could completely destroy me, and I think I’d let you, _that Lucas gets around him.

A tragically beautiful wreckage waiting to be tampered with.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eliott,” Lucas smiles back, and then, “You have really pretty eyes.”

He blames that on the tequila shot Sara from reception had made him do earlier, and the way, when Eliott grins bashfully his face glows like the stars only brighter, on the four mojitos he’s inhaled throughout the night.

“You too,” Eliott murmurs. “I mean—it’s nice to meet you. And you have very pretty eyes, too.”

The slight ineptness to Eliott’s words, how they’re fumbled together like his confidence has been dissembled and replaced with a nervous giddiness, is probably the most adorable thing ever. He guesses maybe Eliott isn’t used to feeling so taken aback, with how out of sorts he appears. And Lucas definitely isn’t the forward type, like at all—he’s way too accustomed to the dance of shy glances and looking away before the other can catch on.

But something about Eliott makes Lucas feel brave enough to try.

“Thanks.” Lucas nibbles at his bottom lip, trace of his smile still there, Eliott’s alike.

“Do you—” Eliott begins, but never has the opportunity to finish, because someone is sauntering up to him and gripping onto his forearm a little desperately.

“Eliott,” the person, a boy, tall but not as tall as Eliott, pants. “Idriss got kicked out for being sick in the toilets. We gotta go, man.”

Eliott looks at the boy, and then at Lucas like the last thing he wants to do right now is leave. Secretly, no disrespect to this Idriss dude, Lucas hopes that Eliott decides to stay.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard Lucas prays in his mind, he doesn’t have that kind of magic within him, and so Eliott leaves.

With a disinclined, “Alright, I’m coming,” for his friend, and a reluctant but sincere, “I’ll see you around, yeah?” for Lucas. He leaves.

And despite the demoralising fact that Eliott doesn’t ask for his number, Lucas is just glad he no longer has to refer to him as _the boy_.

***

One thing Lucas has learned these past few months, is that maybe Paris isn’t as big as people initially think.

Because here he stands, in the middle of a grocery store, and there is Eliott.

They’re in the confectionary aisle, Lucas frozen in his tracks at the end of the aisle while Eliott inspects the assortment of crisps with furrowed brows and his fingers pulling at his bottom lip.

There’s a carefulness to eliott’s features that makes Lucas want to approach with caution but to also wreak havoc all the same. Eliott makes Lucas want to stir up a hurricane, to metamorphose tender into turbulent just because he loves the way it makes him blush.

And that’s a huge problem for someone like Lucas, when weather manipulation is literally one of your five senses.

In the end, Lucas decides to approach devoid of all occultism, thinks that’s the most sensible thing to do in a grocery store in the middle of the day.

“Hey,” Lucas greets when he’s close enough and Eliott still hasn’t looked away from the shelves of crisps.

He jumps slightly, like a fox caught under headlights, head flickering towards Lucas in panic before he relaxes. With a heavy exhale and a hand placed over where his heart rests, he says, “Fuck, you scared me there. Hey.”

“Eliott, right?” Lucas asks, because he may be aided with supplementary confidence, but he isn’t about to make Eliott think he’s a stalker, or something. _He’s casual about this._

Eliott smiles and it’s brighter than the sun in July, Lucas thinks.

“Yeah, and you’re Lucas,” he states happily. Then, smirking, “Have you learned how to smoke properly, yet?”

Lucas narrows his eyes. “Have you decided on a packet of crisps, yet? You’ve been standing here for an awfully long time.”

Eliott’s smirk seems to only darken. “Oh yeah? And you’ve been watching me for long then, too?”

It’s at this moment Lucas realises that he can’t win this, because he definitely shot himself in the foot with that one.

“Only a little bit,” Lucas admits, embarrassment revelling in a small giggle.

Eliott laughs, soft and pretty. “For the record, it’s only taking me this long because the ones I usually get are out of stock. I’m not always this indecisive, I swear.”

“Hmm,” Lucas hums, feigning scepticism.

“I swear! Look.” Eliott points to an empty space in the shelf where the label reads _Doritos Cool Original_, and hates himself for what he’s about to do.

In his defence, it’s not often Lucas comes across someone who also has taste buds as plain as him (as Yann likes to tease him for.)

So, when an employee rounds the corner with a cage of boxes, and stops right beside the crisps to unload a stock of cool original Doritos before wandering down to another aisle, Lucas pretends to be as shocked as Eliott looks.

“No way,” Eliott’s eyes widen, “that’s some freaky shit.”

“Right? Like fate, maybe.”

Does it count as fate if Lucas was the driving force behind it all along? Logically, not. But what’s the harm in a little magic?

Eliott smiles, and it slaps Lucas right in the face how lovely he is.

“Yeah, could be, something like that.”

A pause and then, “Uh, Lucas, do you--would you maybe want to go on a date with me?”

It’s rushed, a little unexpected but not really. And Eliott looks at Lucas like maybe he wants to take the words back but they’re already out there so there’s no going back now.

“I’d love to,” Lucas responds, not even a trace of hesitance within miles.

This time, when Eliott leaves, he has a packet of the blue Doritos clenched in one hand, and Lucas’ number on his phone in the other.

***

It would be a lie for Lucas to say he isn’t nervous, as he sits in the far corner of the coffee shop Eliott had said to meet him at, fingers shredding an abandoned napkin into tiny little pieces that now litter the table.

He puffs out an exasperated sigh when they begin to levitate on their own accord and swipes the pile into his hand, dumping it into the bin next to him.

There are two mugs on the table—his own tea, and the latte he ordered for Eliott, not because his powers extend to the level of mind reading, but simply because Eliott strikes him as the latte drinking type.

Only he has to keep wrapping his hands around each mug to yield their warmth back, as he had been ten minutes early and Eliott is four minutes late.

Eventually, the door swings open and Eliott piles in looking all frantic and windswept. His eyes dart around the room before finally settling on Lucas and then he breaks out into the widest of grins Lucas has ever seen.

“Hi,” he pants upon falling into the chair opposite Lucas. “Sorry I’m a little late, my class got held up.”

Lucas now regards the large black folder Eliott had carried in with him and leant against the wall, it reminds Lucas of the one Arthur used to carry around in high school for art class.

“It’s okay, I ordered for us. I hope you like lattes,” and then, “You do art?”

Eliott seems to digest all of Lucas’ words in his head, “I do, thank you.” Eliott wraps his hands around his own mug, smiles, probably because thanks to Lucas, it’s still warm and his hands have turned pink from the cold. “And yes, I do art. How could you tell?”

They chuckle softly, obvious answer being the ginormous folder blocking the pathway to the toilets.

“What about you?” Eliott asks after taking a small sip of his drink. “What do you do?”

Lucas delves into the story about how he had tried university, but it wasn’t for him. So now he works as an intern in a microbiology lab and that’s working out a lot better right now. Eliott calls him a smarty pants, Lucas blushes.

“What kinds of things do you draw, then?”

Eliott’s lips purse, “I mean, different things. Whatever spikes my interest, or, if it’s for class, insects, because that’s what our current module is on, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean unfortunately?” Lucas laughs, “Insects are cool.”

“Some are, some aren’t,” Eliott waves his hand flippantly.

The bitter scent of coffee wafts into Lucas’ space along with the movement, and it makes him feel warm; how Eliott hasn’t stopped smiling since he sat down, how Lucas hasn’t stopped smiling, either, even under the thick layer of his woollen scarf Lucas feels warm and he’s _burning_.

Burning, and burning, and burning until he’s hopelessly weak to the feeling and it’s all he can survive upon.

Lucas watches Eliott from over the rim of his mug when he takes another sip, and thinks how it should be strange that their interactions have been so limited before now. But the way they’re able to speak to one another, and the way Eliott looks at Lucas, makes him feel like they’ve known each other their whole lives. And that’s a comforting thought.

“And what about people?” Lucas asks, still hiding behind his mug. “Do you draw those?”

“Sometimes,” Eliott shrugs. “Again, if they spike my interest.”

On the inside, Lucas’ heart stammers but on the outside his face unfolds a curious innocence that cannot be faulted. “Would you ever draw me?”

Eliott licks his lips, eyes staring right into Lucas' eyes. “Who says I haven’t already?” he mumbles.

And _that_—Lucas has no words.

Eliott smirks.

It’s the first time Lucas has fallen speechless under Eliott’s gaze, and he’s surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. Lucas decides being teased by Eliott is his new calling in life.

He sets down his mug, watches Eliott carefully from under his eyelashes, and a catastrophic snowstorm erupts in the distance.

It has nothing to do with Lucas. Well—_not entirely_.

***

Later, they venture out from the comfort of the coffee shop and into the cold of the evening.

The snowstorm had kept them trapped inside for longer than expected, which—is convenient on Lucas’ part. A convenient misfortune is all it was.

Lucas would sense the sharp chill it had left in its wake more, only Eliott and his oversized camel jacket are like an inferno settling Lucas’ skin ablaze as they wander along the streets of Paris side-by-side. And maybe, once or twice, the tips of their fingers or the backs of their hands happen to graze softly, but neither of them choose to mention it.

It's more exciting to leave it as an unspoken, anyway.

By seven, Lucas is certain they are only wandering around because neither of them really want to part ways just yet, but taking the other back to their place still feels like too much, too soon.

Although, Lucas also thinks that if Eliott asked him to, Lucas probably wouldn’t be able to say no. That’s the most dangerous part.

They stop for fries in McDonalds because they get hungry, and then Eliott takes him to what he says has, _the best view of the Eiffel Tower._ And Lucas scoffs at him for being _such a tourist_. But is shut up the second they get there and the most beautiful overhead view of Paris stares right back at them. The way the city is lit up entirely exhibits a phosphorescence that dazzles and glows, underneath a soft blanket of white, shadows swallow up the darkness, silvers and golds shaping every building.

It’s beautiful, and for the second time that day, Lucas is left speechless.

He really thinks Eliott might be slowly killing his spellbound heart.

***

“This is me,” Lucas mumbles with reluctance. Truthfully, he had been contemplating not even announcing their arrival and instead allowing Eliott to guide him to the ends of the earth, instead.

They pause on the side of the road outside Lucas’ apartment block, wind rustling at their hair and chilling their bones but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because everything seems to fall infinitesimal in comparison to the way Eliott makes Lucas feel. Warm and bright like star dust flourishing within intergalactic galaxies.

Lost snowflakes still fall from the sky every so often, all while the golden streetlamps add a hue of warmth to Eliott’s predominantly pale skin, casting shadows along his cheekbones in a way that makes Lucas want to write binders of poetry.

“There’s this drive-in movie thing on, on Friday night,” Eliott says, head tilting downwards so that he isn’t as taller than Lucas than he normally is. “Do you want to go together? I could pick you up.”

Lucas thinks, when he responds with a smile and, “Yeah. I’d like that,” that there’s definitely a drop of magic within the glint in Eliott’s eyes that must have been crafted by angels, or something. There really is no other explanation.

***

The movie thing had been running smoothly so far. Eliott had brought blankets, and snacks, and _Romeo and Juliet _was playing on the giant screen above them—the perfect film to depict the tragedy of romantic realism.

They had reclined the seats in Eliott’s car right down and spread the blankets wide enough to create the perfect little cocoon for themselves to nestle into.

Hence, things were running smoothly.

But now, midway into the _1000 times goodnight scene—_Eliott’s favourite scene—the screen blackens, and along with it, darkness consumes them.

“Did the power just go out?”

Lucas glances around him and huffs out a sigh. “Looks like it.”

He won’t admit the way his insides scream at him to make it better, to soothe the crease between Eliott’s brows and the frown that tugs at his lips.

_He won’t do it._

Only, Lucas was born with an electric current inside of him that is impossible to tame, especially around someone as pretty as Eliott. So, not a second later, all Lucas simply has to do is look at the screen and back again is the deep blue of water submerging a kiss, and love, and youth.

Eliott lets out an excited little squeal, hand batting at Lucas’ chest to get him to lie back down. “It’s back on! Shh.”

Lucas giggles, and if he settles down in the blankets a little closer than before, nobody has to know.

He thinks he’s just a tiny bit obsessed with this quintessence of a boy.

***

In the end, it doesn’t really matter that Lucas rectified the situation, because they stop paying attention to the movie at some point, anyway.

Now they lie on their sides facing one another, and Lucas can’t help but wish Eliott would just bite the bullet and kiss him.

Instead he’s telling Lucas about the time he got food poisoning on holiday, and while Lucas finds every single thing Eliott says to be the most intriguing thing on the planet, he really, really just wants to know how he tastes.

So, Lucas waits patiently for a break in their conversation, an appropriate one, and he murmurs, “Do you feel that?”

Eliott frowns, “What?”

Lucas lifts his arm from where it had been resting under his cheek and lets his fingers float delicately around between where they both lay.

“The space between us. It’s too much,” he whispers.

It only invokes a chuckle from Eliott. “You’re an idiot,” he laughs, but he wraps his arms around Lucas’ waist and tugs him closer nonetheless.

So close their chests bump together and Lucas screeches.

“What?” Eliott cackles, “Is this not what you wanted?” He digs his nimble fingers into Lucas’ sides teasingly.

“No!” Lucas squirms, laughter erupting out of him in bubbles of joy. “Stop! I didn’t mean tickle me!”

Eliott stops and smirks, his face so close Lucas can count the little ill-defined freckles that dust his nose. “What did you mean, then?”

Lucas can’t believe Eliott is actually going to make him say it out loud. But that’s the game they’re playing now, apparently.

“I want you to kiss me, okay?”

Eliott’s breath shudders, “Okay,” he breathes.

And then he leans in, hand coming up to brush away the unkempt strands of hair that have fallen over Lucas’ eyes, then cupping his cheek to pull him closer. When their lips meet, soft, tender, but electric all the same, Lucas feels it in every nerve in his body.

He feels volcanos erupt and glasses shatter and mountains shift in their beds.

The smell of boy and sweetness consumes him, and the way Eliott’s skin burns under Lucas’ fingertips is dizzying.

Eliott hums into it, lips slotting together like they were always destined to find each other. Lucas grips onto Eliott’s bicep to anchor himself, because god knows what might happen if his mind loses itself and another snowstorm explodes over them.

They kiss until their lips are numb, but then again, Eliott only moves the party down to Lucas’ neck, and the curve where his shoulder dips into his collarbone. He dances there until Lucas can’t take it any longer and pulls him back up to kiss him again.

So, they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

And Lucas can’t help but think that there’s something special about this thing between him and Eliott that not even magic can explain.

***

A month later, and things are progressing well between Lucas and Eliott.

Mystical mishaps have been kept to a minimum—minus that time Eliott’s car broke down in the rain, _because what was Lucas supposed to do? Just stand there and do nothing?_ Then, the night he made a shooting star appear because Eliott had said earlier that day that he’s never seen one before. Which is an absurdity that needed to be mended.

Those are some fairly justifiable circumstances, if you ask him.

But now they’re in Eliott’s apartment, pretending that it hasn’t just gone noon and that they should probably get out of bed and take on the responsibilities of the world.

Lucas has really come to love spending time at Eliott’s, because he’s moulded himself into the place so fluently it’s like walking through a museum of his life. The family photos, memories with friends, the little drawings he has pinned up on every wall—_a sunset, a mythical bridge, a bright blue butterfly. _(There’s even one of Lucas, in the far corner of the living room next to one of a pretty water lily.)

However, Eliott’s bedroom is Lucas’ ultimate favourite—for reasons that are nobody’s business but his own.

“You’re such a little shit,” Eliott is whining. But he’s laughing, also, so Lucas takes it as an invitation to continue being said little shit.

He wiggles away from Eliott’s hold, blankets twisting at their feet. “Nuh-uh.”

“Come here!” Eliott groans. “Wanna kiss you.”

“No, Eliott. You have morning breath,” Lucas says in a serious tone.

Eliott pouts, far too dramatically for a Sunday morning. “But—Lucas.”

He eventually wheedles his way close enough to bury his bed head into Lucas’ chest, and begins peppering kisses there instead. Lucas tries to shove him off, because acting as a hindrance is his strong suit.

Eliott lets out a string of incoherent grumbles that induces another spurt of giggles from Lucas.

“Baby,” Eliott mumbles, nose now planted into his pillow, “I think I’m going to die.”

“Well that’s a little dramatic now, don’t you think?”

Eliott looks up with a glare and then he’s lunging for Lucas all over again.

And you see, something as harmless and negligible as playfighting under the covers shouldn’t hold such a momentous weight to it years down the line. But Lucas is an esoteric enchanter of mysticism and his soul thrives off unleashing a chaos he hasn’t quite got the hang of keeping under control just yet.

It all happens so quickly, first Eliott backs him over to the ledge of the bed, and when Lucas’ elbow flings backwards, he feels it knock against his half-filled mug of tea. The clank of the mug toppling off the wood of the bedside table reverberates throughout the room, Lucas watches as Eliott winces, waiting for the follow up of ceramic smashing against his bedroom floor.

It never comes.

And—_shit._

“What the—” Eliott starts, rising up on his elbows to lean across Lucas’ frozen body to peer over the edge of the bed. His sentence is cut short. Lucas is too afraid to look.

When he does, it’s to find his mug of tea levitating a decent five inches above the ground.

Eliott takes one glance at the look of guilt laced with fear across Lucas’ face and gasps.

“Lucas,” he states, eyebrows raised like an owner scolding their kitten for scratching at the new leather sofa.

Lucas lifts a pillow and covers his face with it, only Eliott is still lying on top of him, so it doesn’t take long for him to begin his attempts at prying it off Lucas.

“Hey,” Eliott urges, “talk to me.”

The pillow is ripped from Lucas’ grasp and flung to the other end of the bedroom, and Lucas feels naked.

“What?” Lucas tries to feign nonchalance. But Eliott is far too smart for that.

“Are you--You’re magic,” Eliott whispers. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Lucas nods, embarrassed. He’s never told a single soul before.

“Basically.”

“Okay,” Eliott says, slowly. He reaches down for the mug and places it safely back onto the bedside table.

“You think I’m weird now, don’t you?” Lucas stammers. “Fuck. This is weird.”

Eliott shakes his head lightly, hair falling over his eyes from where he still hovers over Lucas, sun beaming in through the sheer curtains. “I don’t think you’re weird.” A brief pause, “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

And then, because Eliott is clearly a creature not from this planet but from a distant one built from crystalline eyes and celestial orbed smiles that spark mischief within halcyon cosmic skies, he straddles Lucas, giggles brighter than a Sirius star, and proclaims aloud, “_there's magic in thy majesty!_”

Lucas retrieves the pillow from the floor with a quick flick of his wrist and smacks Eliott in the chest with it for being the biggest idiot on earth, and every earth.

Eliott kisses him, Lucas kisses him back twice as hard. It feels like they’re floating, but then again, maybe they are.

***

At midnight they watch the sky from Eliott’s rooftop.

Because: _it’s a full moon tonight, Lucas. If we’re going to be in a relationship, we have to pass the romantic milestone of watching the full moon together. That’s the rules._

Thus, here they are, Lucas’ head in Eliott’s lap as they gaze up at the stars unravelling into specs of silver dust against the black of the sky. Then, the moon, reflecting a light in harmony with another’s sun. It puts the stars to shame, how it parades and pirouettes and asks for nothing in return, only the chance to show its power to cast a luminosity in the night like nothing else. The clouds that occasionally float by aren’t even paramount enough to block out the moonlight that transforms the night into something special, something magical.

“So, what can you do?” Eliott asks, hand running lazily through Lucas’ hair. “Magic-wise,” he adds.

Lucas purses his lips, “A few things, depends what you want to see.”

“You can show me something?” he gasps with a childlike excitement.

Lucas nods, is certain he would do absolutely anything for Eliott.

He sits up. “Look at me.” Eliott watches him, bottom lip drawn under his teeth as he waits.

Lucas closes his eyes, inhales, exhales, and opens them again to the slight hitch of Eliott’s breath.

And he sees it, reflecting back to him through the grey of Eliott’s eyes, the golden swimming deep within his irises. He knows how insane it must look, his eyes glowing a rich golden under the cool tones cast by the moon.

He blinks once more and it’s gone, and Eliott looks at Lucas in complete awe.

“I think I’m in love with you, you know,” Eliott breathes.

Lucas blinks up at him, hand clasping at the end of the hoodie Eliott is wearing. “Do you mean that?”

Eliott nods, covering Lucas’ hand with his own and lacing their fingers together. “I do. Yeah.”

“Good,” Lucas whispers, “I love you, too.” He does, has for quite a while, he thinks.

“What else?” Eliott asks, now moving so his head is settled in Lucas’ lap.

Lucas tells him about objects floating and appearing from thin air, about minor cataclysms and electrically charged fingertips. Lucas tells Eliott everything, and Eliott listens like nothing in the world has ever astonished him as much ever.

And when the night revitalises itself into the little hours of the morning, stars fading but darkness still encompassing, Eliott asks, “And the moon? Could you touch the moon?”

Lucas smiles, watches Eliott study the sky with an intrigue akin to that of an astronomer discovering an interstellar.

“If I really wanted to, yes.” And then, because he promised himself that he would, “Do you want it? The moon.”

Eliott is silent for a few moments, breaths soft and his face twisted into something unreadable. But then he’s nodding, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, please.”

(Lucas steals the moon from the sky right then and there, and Eliott hugs it close to his chest. The forsaken sky weeps in its absence, but to see the way Eliott’s face glows up close like this is every bit worth it and more. The only problem they have now is where to keep something so large and bright. But Lucas thinks, if that’s their biggest worry, in a universe where magic transcends all reality and every norm, things must be pretty damn good.)

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone is wondering where the moon has gone lucas and eliott have stolen it and it’s theirs now
> 
> thank you for reading! i finished this at 3am it’s a little ridiculous
> 
> my tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)


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